


strike, dear mistress

by rhllors



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, mentions of other Avengers, peggy as the winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhllors/pseuds/rhllors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men whisper, as all men do, about the creature that lurks on the outside of their missions, the shadow that passes in the darkness. Some flick salt, others are old enough to remember their prayers, and rapidly repeat the words that their mothers used to say to them. Most ignore her; <i>perhaps</i>, they think, <i>if we don’t acknowledge her, she doesn’t exist</i>. They think, they <i>know</i>, that this is the Soviet Union and all manner of nightmares lurk, whether hidden or in plain sight—it is the unspoken law between comrades not to speak of such thing. Forget this not, she maybe be beautiful and silent, but she is a nightmare, wrapped in a woman’s hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strike, dear mistress

She is beautiful and terrible and nameless, a machine made in the depths of Moscow. The woman does not speak, she does not eat, she does not laugh. She wears her scars like the other wear their medals.

The men whisper, as all men do, about the creature that lurks on the outside of their missions, the shadow that passes in the darkness. Some flick salt, others are old enough to remember their prayers, and rapidly repeat the words that their mothers used to say to them. Most ignore her; _perhaps_ , they think, _if we don’t acknowledge her, she doesn’t exist_. They think, they _know_ , that this is the Soviet Union and all manner of nightmares lurk, whether hidden or in plain sight—it is the unspoken law between comrades not to speak of such thing. Forget this not, she maybe be beautiful and silent, but she is a nightmare, wrapped in a woman’s hide.

They call her смерть. They call her the Solider of Winter, because this is the Russia, and winter is all they have. It is a demon in the night and a fail safe protector.

She doesn't care. She's good at what she does, there is little more she could want than that.

 

 

Once she dreams of a smiling man, of a dance. 

Russia has taken everything from her, and when she dreams of him not longer, she knows she should have realised that they would take her subconscious too.

 

 

It is the same every time. 

She will awake from her chamber, surrounded by Doctor's and Scientists, sometimes Officers adorned in medalsor government officials rapidly taking notes. she is debriefed. They give her a name and a gun and sometimes a photograph. She eats her dinner, sits on the plane and polishes her gun, sharpens her knives--when occasion demands, she will slide into a slinky dress--Russian red, always red. Bloodier red than blood.--and thread her stockings with garotte wire. When the gun has been fired, the throat has been slit or when the knife has slid into the flesh, she washes her hands, gets back onto the plane and cleans her gun and her knives. Then she is asleep, once more.

Then, she will awake from her chamber, surrounded by....

 

 

The man in the photograph has a leering smirk and a ridiculous beard. Stark, they say. He likes beautiful things, they say.

Да, she replies. It's not like she has a choice anyway, but sometimes she clings to the semblance in control here.

(she finds control as she watches the light leave her victims eyes.)

 

 

Tony Stark looks at her strangely, like she is ghost (at least he got that right, for she is the ghost that has haunted the world decades) or some spectre come to haunt him. Her booted foot is firmly plastered on his neck, before she wonders why she hasn't put a bullet in his skull yet, but he is staring and staring and staring, there is something in his eyes, something familiar.

Familiar is a new acquaintance. Nothing has been familiar to the woman since before she can remember, but something has taken root in her bones, there is something in his face, something in the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose that jolts through her with more power than the Red Room ever instilled in her. There is a name on the tip of her tongue, memory in the back of head--which is ridiculous because she is a nightmare created by men who wished to rule the world, and nightmares don't have memories and they certainly don't remember creatures.

Her mouth opens, words about to slip out, unbidden, before she receives an incredibly nasty blow to the head.

The world turns sideways.

 

 

She wakes.

It is the same, yet--there are no doctor's no scientists, no generals, no politicians, just the smiling man, except he isn't smiling he's frowning with worry and she wants to wipe the sadness of his face the way she used to wipe the blood off her knives, and--

In that moment, смерть dies. The Winter Solider dies.

Peggy Carter has a date.


End file.
